


Colorful Web

by tryingherbestpacito



Series: Inhuman Dream dsmp [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Clay | Dream-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Everyone talks about the stings on this server, Gen, Inhuman Clay | Dream, Light Angst, Manipulative Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), So i decided to do a fic on it, cutting ties and relationships lmao, depending on how y'all take this, let the man rest lmao, no beta we die like men, other characters are really just in passing, this fic is dumb but screw it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:35:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29549400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryingherbestpacito/pseuds/tryingherbestpacito
Summary: Oh puppet master, tied in strings...When will you learn, the threads of fate will forever be tangled.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Inhuman Dream dsmp [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175888
Comments: 5
Kudos: 48





	Colorful Web

**Author's Note:**

> Local dsmp!Dream apologist back at it again cringeeeee point and laugh everyone
> 
> I had this little headcanon and wrote like half of it on my phone in a crazed delirium at 1 am in the morning while dealing with a power outage so excuse any mistakes
> 
> Also, i made a little video for a different dsmp au of mine and idk i think it's funny so go check it out [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eKEue-igfCk)

Dream still remembers the first time he saw the threads. He'd just won the duel, high off his victory over his own territory and relishing in the smug feeling of having asserted his reign once and for all over the traitors when a pitiful Tommy came crawling up to him. Dream frowned at the sight, tensing and resting a gloved hand on his sword as a silent warning when the boy comes to a stop in front of him. He wants to laugh when Tommy holds up Melohi and Cat, begging to trade the useless items for the independence of land that never belonged to them. He almost does but pauses when he hears his Patron whisper. The Admin is confused, casting a Deafening spell around him to properly argue the ridiculous request. Why would he trade his own territory for items he'd never really cared for? Music he'd only stolen to teach the insolent teen a lesson (one that _clearly_ hadn't stuck) but he hears the whisper to take a closer look, so he does and it's like something _clicks_.

All around the silenced and confused teen are strings, bright red and glowing. They spill off of him, weaving around the two disks in his battered hand, connecting the three in a way that seems impossible to untangle. There are more strings of different colors and shades around him, all five tethered to a limb and leading back to those black and yellow walls (save for a severed blue, purple and pink one, dangling around his neck like a broken necklace) Dream warily holds a hand out, watching with growing fascination as the strings attach to his wrist, snaking up his arm when the disks are deposited in his palm, red turning a lime green.

His favorite color.

He turns the new prizes in the moonlight, cocking his head to examine the threads bleeding green instead of red. A part of him wants to cruelly toss them back at the teen's feet, what use did he have of such items when his own realm and pride were on the line? An exasperated voice explains how two disks worth a nation could come in handy in the future, after all...

Children's hearts are fickle, and who's to say the land wouldn't lose it's worth to the boy one day? Only then does Dream recall his patron's many names, Chaos the only one he'd remembered in battle but there were others, more dangerous ones whispered and prayed in the darkest corners of the world

Lies. Deception. Trickery.

Manipulation.

He hesitated, eyeing the fidgeting blonde staring longingly at the disks. The boy was a glowing beacon, practically a spool of rainbow threads with how tightly he was tangled up. Fascinating. 

Dream summons out his Ender chest, slipping the coveted music disks away before Tommy can react. In one swift move, Dream has a blank book in one hand and an enchanted quill in the other, quickly writing out what the boy had asked before snapping it closed and sealing it with a flash of purple magic. He takes down the spell surrounding him, nighttime woodland sounds flooding his ears once more as he tosses Tommy the book. The boy mumbles out a thanks of sorts before rushing off into the woods whence he came. Dream examines his gloved hand. He doesn't miss the way neon threads trail off into the night, coiling tightly around the retreating teen's throat like a noose.

He smiles. 

* * *

Now that he can see them, the threads are everywhere, more and more popping up on people, on items, on places and Dream spends a good amount of time watching it all. He sees his own lime green strings spilling off of himself, spinning around his friends and his people. When he looks in the mirror he can see different colors wrapped around his arms and shoulders, blue and orange snug around his neck, other colors settling comfortably on his arms or hands. Dream likes connecting the colors to people. He watches with much interest at how everyone unknowingly tugs and yanks at the strings, threads pulling taut with every violent argument, wrapping tighter during peaceful moments and tangling a little more with every intimate action.

During one particular argument between Quackity and Wilbur, navy-gold and sunny yellow, Dream watched with inexplicable glee as their tangled strings pulled tight, looking close to snapping altogether. He knew it was possible for strings to snap, Eret was living testament, 5 colorful threads always trailing behind him, fluttering in the wind with his royal cape.

He wonders what it would take to snap one of his own. 

* * *

Dream realized how easy the strings were to manipulate. A soft word here, an unspoken gesture there and people would jerk around, pulled along by the threads tethering them to the Admin. It was oh so _easy_ to commandeer their ropes, especially with his Patron's eager guidance. It was also a new source of fascinating fun, watching them all dance around to his whim. 

* * *

Dream is barely listening to Wilbur's crazed monologue, only watching in excitement at all the severed strings dangling limply from the man's fingertips. Dream had learned much about the threads by watching the former president. The man had pulled and plucked at the strings so expertly it looked like he was playing an instrument at times, and maybe he was. Tugging so subtly and gently Dream could almost hear the guitar notes echoing off each color with ever _y_ masterful flick of a finger.

The strings were gone now, Dream had watched first hand from the shadows as Wilbur had severed them with his own paranoia, the only two colors left were a frayed and thin red that looked close to snapping although still glowing brightly as it spun around the man's young, tired brother, and the last being Wilbur's own color. The yellow was muted and dull, almost brown when they had once been a blinding yellow _,_ the color of sunbeams themselves. Dream noted the way those strings still held firm around Tommy.

Wilbur asks for the means to destroy Manberg and Dream can see the unspoken grief and desperation in the man's eyes. It pained Dream, in a way, seeing such a bright thread be brought to this state. On the other hand, it also brought him great joy to see the person who'd dared take something of his in such a wreaked state before him. Whether it be pity or selfishness, Dream hands over the stacks of TNT Wilbur requires, stepping in the way when Tommy threatens to shoot his own brother, red growing more frail and strained. It still burned as brightly as ever though, so Dream wasn't too concerned.

Dream grins, sharp and eager when he spies the now familiar neon green snap like a vice around Wilbur's neck. He glances over at the now horrified looking Tommy.

He wonders if the boy can see them too. 

* * *

Dream watches the drunken president in contemplative silence, observing how each drunken swing only tightens the invisible web around him, tangling each knot beyond repair. Like Wilbur, Schlatt had provided the curious Admin plenty of information on how the strings worked, the man showing expert skill in pulling threads to reach his goals. The colorful web had been beautiful once, Dream had always been impressed with how Schlatt was capable of keeping such a complex nest neat and in place with golden words.

He pitied the president now, too wrapped up in his strings that they began to strangle him as it all came crashing down. 

* * *

Dream cackles, his patron's own cruel laughter echoing in his head as they watch from above the web of color that meshes beautifully among the chaos of war. He loves the way everyone's colors look on his fingertips, web beginning to finally untangle now that there were two less colors in the mix. 

* * *

Dream is in the verge of screaming, blur of colors hurting his eyes as he frantically yanks at them, trying desperately to untangle the knots, straighten out the kinks all the while tugging off the threads continuing to coil around him. He knew just how dangerous threads could be, how vulnerable that made him and in return the people connected to him. He wants to shake George, hold up the blue string messed up with so many others, a dangerous pink now in the mix. He wants to shut Quackity up, strangle him with his own Navy-gold thread that purposely tangled up orange and blue with vicious words.

He pretends behind the safety of his mask that his most important strings aren't pulling taut and thin, that they weren't choking back the words he needs to say to defuse the situation. He pretends and walks home alone that night, cradling the tangled mass of colors in his arms carefully, hating the glowing red weaving its way through it.

He pretends, and weeps bitterly in frustration. 

* * *

Dream is careful now, no longer yanking and pulling, for that only tightens the knots, making them impossible to undo until there is no solution but to cut it out altogether. He's learned that harsh lesson from Schlatt. That's what he's had to do with that dreadful red, and the strings are now easier to manage. He dutifully pulls apart the threads, separating them and quietly setting them back in place. He watches Tommy with a keen eye, taking pages from Wilbur's own book to keep the boy in check, making sure the only strings on the teen were his own, lest there be more knots.

He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. 

* * *

Dream never expected to see the day pink would merge with green and yet here he was, a bright, glowing string coiled loosely around his wrist. He gave a pleased hum as he examines the pretty color, the person on the other end thousands of miles away but Dream knows with a single flick of his hand he can tighten the noose around the other's neck.

He sighs and goes back to the mess around him, murmuring soft reassurances to himself as he gets back to work picking it all apart. 

* * *

Dream isn't quite sure what's keeping him from killing the Blood God's vessel on his own doorstep. He doesn't fear the blood god, not one bit- not when he has his own patron to _w_ orry about, and yet he dutifully restrains himself from running the man through as he steps into the humble house. He doesn't know what infuriates him more, the fact that he could clearly see the single remaining green thread leading him directly to the treacherous child, or that Technoblade had the audacity to blatantly lie in his face about it.

He does nothing about it though, exiting the house back into the harsh cold and only watching the red string in his palm. 

* * *

Dream knows of the whispers behind his back, knows how the strings shift and move when they think he isn’t paying attention. How one by one the colors snap and slip awa _y._ He doesn't care. Severed threads are easier to untangle anyway, to pick apart and set in motion for a future only he can see. He doesn't let it show how much the remaining fraying threads bother him, how he knows he has to eventually cut them and jump ship before it all comes burning down. He selfishly lets them stay suffocating him for one more day _._

Not yet. 

* * *

Dream observes, silent and pissed atop the main portal when red and pink get closer. His patron seethes nearby, it’s want for control struggling against his need for chaos. Words are exchanged when the two arrive and it gets harder to keep his hands weaponless, especially when Tommy starts mouthing off. It’s almost laughable, how the teen wholeheartedly believes the potions and golden apples can save him. Dream’s grip on the threads tighten, a small consolation when Technoblade steps in to protect the blonde. The Admin sighs, running a hand through his hair and fiddling with the pink string in his hand, wondering if he should pull it.

He decides not to, saving the favor for his future plans and steps aside for the two to pass by, holding back harsh words when the boy taunts him. Technoblade steps through the portal after the teen, giving one last glance over at the Admin.

Dream grins at him, lazily twirling the fuchsia string in the invisible web surrounding him. Techno looks unsettled by the movement, hand slowly rising to touch the unseen thread around his neck. Dream’s smile widens and he laughs, filled with glee when The Blade hurries in after Tommy. He hums softly as he watches the stings shift and writhe, noting which colors needed re-arranging. He lets out a tired sigh when he gets a new alert on his board.

He had so much work to do.

* * *

Dream hesitates, knowing what he had to say but still struggling to spit it out. He finally does, and the pain in Tubbo’s face as he thoroughly breaks down the young teen is almost enough to make him stop.

He doesn’t.

Another string is cut.

He slips The Disk into an enderchest, his Patron excited for once, especially when he makes the announcement of New L’Manberg’s demise. He leaves Technoblade to deal with the angry crowd on his own, a small revenge for undermining him a few days ago. He makes his way to the portal, escaping into the Nether for his secret portal to his house. As he jogs, he examines the row of colors on his left arm, severed and holding no power over him. Dream mutters to himself as he slips down a maze of netherrack, ducking under stone and eyeing the remaining hues still wrapped around him

Just a few more to go and he’d be free.

* * *

Dream does his best to appear frightened, as if he’d ever be scared of the scrawny teen threatening him at axe edge, as if a human with no Patron could ever hurt him with the weapon he’d crafted himself. Dream could see the Threads, he knew exactly what to say, what to do to slip out of actual danger and into the safety of Sam’s custody. He pretends his trembling body is because of fear and shame, ignoring his own pride to hold back the amusement bubbling up in him. The strings were all around him, bright green invading every strand and without a single one knowing.

When Sam roughly deposits him in the cell of his own commissioned prison Dream finally lets out the suppressed laughter, leaning on the obsidian wall for support with how hard he was laughing, slumping to the floor and gasping for breath. He collects himself with quiet chuckles, resting against the wall and bringing a knee up to rest an arm on. Every strand is cut, dangling from his arms like a rainbow waterfall. He feels a small twinge of sadness at the sight but pushes the emotion away, knowing he couldn’t afford such luxuries, not when he had so much work to do.

After a few hours alone, he notes his new favorite thread beginning to glow a little brighter and he perks up immediately, waiting patiently for his first visitor.

* * *

Dream sprawls out on the cot he’d been provided with, lazily watching his strings while offhandedly regulating his realm remotely through his board. He knew he could escape at any moment, but this was much more fun. He fiddles with the four strongest colors on his right hand, grinning to himself at all the people who thought they were free from the web.

Only he had fully escaped.

The first is wrapped around his pinky and is frail and thin but still there all the same. That horrid bright scarlet he loved to play with the most.

The second is wrapped around his ring finger, gold and white and so subtly hidden no one else knows it even exists. It’s the only one of its kind. Red has begun to seep into it, but Dream has decided not to let that worry him.

The third is on his middle, black and white and glowing dimly. Dream wondered why it shone brighter some moments than it did others. Perhaps he’d get answers on their next visit.

And finally the one on his pointer, glowing brightest in the most delicate, beautiful shade of pink.

Dream smiles sadly to himself, humming quietly as he lets his hand drop and stares up at the obsidian ceiling.

“I’ve got no strings to hold me down, to make me fret or make me frown~” he sings softly in the silent prison, over the quiet bubbling of the lava “I had strings but now I’m free-” he pauses and looks back at the web of color, the lovely threads he missed no longer around him

“…there are no strings on _me_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> low-key kinda don't like this but i spent too much time and effort into this dumb thing so thanks for reading it!!


End file.
